


take a photo (it'll last longer)

by literatiruinedme



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: And Toni is at the protest in primary colours, And finding a human to run away with, F/M, Journalist Betty Cooper, Like way too much for just meeting, Meet-Cute, Photo galleries, Photographer Jughead Jones, Season 2 happens but Betty's from NYC instead, Supporting your friends achievements even though you'd rather never talk to anyone ever, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 02:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17417039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literatiruinedme/pseuds/literatiruinedme
Summary: Two days. A.Andrews, R.Circle Vs J.Jones III, S.Serpents by Antoinette Topaz. Southside High School, Riverdale, NY. 2012.If a picture is worth a thousand words, then six photographs should be more than enough to suck Betty Cooper in.





	take a photo (it'll last longer)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by one author's obsession with the conclusion to Jughead's political protests in Primary Colours.
> 
> and the [mood board](https://imgur.com/SzCfkQp)

The photo set was gorgeous.

Well, the entire gallery was gorgeous, but Toni’s photographs- the reason she’d come to the gallery in the first place -were absolutely breathtaking.

Toni was a friend of Betty’s from work, one of her few friends. She was also engaged to Cheryl Blossom, one of the only relatives Betty was still in contact with. She and Betty had been partnered up on many articles and they made a perfect pair. Betty wrote gripping exposés and Toni’s amazing eye would always capture a photograph that perfectly emulated the mood of what Betty had written.

But she also loved to view Toni’s solo work. There was so much raw emotion behind all of it. She liked to photograph people juxtaposed against backgrounds that felt jarring, but still comfortable.

Betty loved her photo study of people in their favourite coats against the neon version of whatever colour complemented it.

This set of photos was unlike anything she’d ever seen from Toni.

Each of the five photographs was bound to the stark white walls with three to four pieces of tape. The first two were crooked, the third was centred perfectly, the forth was an inch too close to the third, and the last photo was posted a few inches above the rest as if it were flying away.

The photographs were of two teenagers, clearly on different sides, standing against a rundown high school surrounded by a large crowd of protestors. The two boys facing off were surrounded by a handful of people wearing similar attire to their respective leaders. One of the boys had bright red hair. He wore all gray. The other boy had jet black hair peeking out from under a dark gray beanie- it almost looked like a crown on his head -and he was wearing all black and leather. They were arguing, not yelling at one another, but there was tension.

The black-haired boy was almost smirking.

There was a shot next to it: this time the black-haired boy was holding his chained hands out. Her eyes got lost in the chains, following them around his wrists, across his torso, around his waist and back up to the school. When she looked back at the red-haired boy, it was only then that she noticed he had red gripped bolt cutters in his hand.

The third photo showed the red-haired boy cutting the chains holding the black-haired boy’s wrists together. The crowd around them had grown more irate.

In the fourth photo, the black-haired boy was stepping forward, breaking free of the chains that locked him to the building. Four boys in gray walked past the two leaders, cutting the chains wrapped around the other seven boys’ wrists.

The last photo was different. The black-haired boy had his back to the camera as he walked down an empty road, through thick woods. The other boys in his group walked ahead of him.

Betty took a step closer, looking at his jacket.

There was a serpent on the back, sewn in bright green thread.  _ Southside Serpents _ was inscribed around it in red and white.

They sounded familiar.

She looked down at the title card.

_ Two days. A.Andrews, R.Circle Vs J.Jones III, S.Serpents by Antoinette Topaz. Southside High School, Riverdale, NY. 2012. _

“Riverdale,” Betty said aloud. She looked back up at the photos. The school looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

“It's a weird little town,” someone said from beside her.

Betty turned towards the source of the sound.

A man with jet black hair and blue eyes stood beside her, looking at the photographs.

Her gaze drifted over his rust coloured sweater, all the way to his worn black boots. “Ever been?” she asked, looking back up at him. She froze when she noticed he had been watching her.

His lips tipped up in a shy smile as she felt her cheeks heat up. He looked back at the photographs. “Grew up there.” He pointed to the black-haired boy. “Protested a few times, too.”

Her eyes widened.  _ Oh. _ She looked at him and then back at the photographs.  _ Oh! _ “That’s you.” She paused. “Wait, do you seriously try to pick up women using your friend’s photography?”

The man laughed, turning to face her. “You think  _ I _ -”

“Cousin!” Cheryl called, drawing their collective focus towards her as she walked over. She looked at the man standing next to Betty. “Hobo, that’s not exactly what I’d call cleaning up, but B- for effort. Glad you left the rag at home as I asked.”

Jughead huffed. “Hold on there, Ice Woman-”

“I see you've met Betty Cooper,” Cheryl interrupted, ignoring what he’d said in favour of turning to look at Betty. “Cousin, this Holden Caulfield type is Jughead Jones.”

Betty looked over at the man- at  _ Jughead _ . “I think Toni's mentioned you before. The author with the chip on his shoulder?”

“The very same.” He smiled when Betty chuckled. 

Cheryl huffed. “He's more charming after a few glasses of wine.”

His brows furrowed. “Since when do I drink wine around you?”

“I was talking to Betty.” Cheryl rolled her eyes. She reached out to touch Betty's hand. “You know red is my personal preference, but anything containing alcohol will do the trick.” She smiled as Toni walked by.

Toni beamed when she caught Betty’s eye. “Betty, Jug-”

“They've been introduced,” Cheryl interrupted. She wrapped an arm around Toni's, pulling her close. “Let's leave them be, TT. I have plans for my favourite photographer.” Cheryl turned back to Betty and Jughead. “You two-” She pointed back and forth between them. “Mingle.”

Cheryl and Toni were gone before Betty could really process what had happened.

“I'd stop them, but Cheryl looked like she wanted to  _ eat _ Toni.”

Betty laughed before she could stop herself.

He smiled, holding a hand out for her to shake. “Jughead Jones, the third.”

She turned to face him. “Betty Cooper.” She shook his hand, smiling at him as she let go of his hand. “Hang on, you're the third person in your family to be named  _ Jughead _ ?”

He shrugged. “Forsythe Pendleton is my legal name, but Jughead is less…”

“Stuffy?” She offered, beginning to stroll towards another entry in the gallery. She tugged lightly at his sleeve when he hadn’t moved. 

The corner of his mouth tipped up in a small smile as he started walking with her. “I was going to say boring, but that works, too.” He reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “By the way, I didn’t come here to pick up women.”

Betty hummed, looking down at their shoes. “I realized I was wrong when I caught your name.” She glanced up, fighting the butterflies she felt in her stomach when she noticed his sheepish smile.

“You’ve heard of me?”

She nodded. “I’ve heard a few things.”

He perked up at that, meeting her gaze again. “Good things?” He asked, sounding almost hopeful.

She smiled. “Good things.”

“Well,” he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “To level the playing field, I should probably say I’ve heard about you, too.”

Betty hummed. “Good things?”

He seemed to relax at the question, smiling at her as he nodded. “Good things.”

She looked down at her shoes.

“Hey,” Jughead said.

She looked up, biting her lower lip when she noticed the mischievous look in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“You want to get out of here?” He asked, quirking a brow when he met her gaze again. 

“You a runner, Jug?”

He smirked, nodding his head. “I can be.”

Betty grinned, holding a hand out to him. “Come on then, Dodger.”

His eyes sparked with something she didn’t recognize before he grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the door. 

They stopped by the coat room, grabbing their jackets before stepping out into the chilly February air. 

Betty took a deep breath in, letting her eyes slip closed as she listened to the loud sounds of the city around them.

“Happy?” He asked, buttoning up his sherpa jacket.

She nodded, holding a hand out to him. “It was too warm in there.” She shoved her other hand in her jacket pocket.

He hummed, taking her hand in both of his. “Too busy.”

“Yes.” Betty groaned, nodding her head. “I love supporting my friends, but it’s so exhausting.”

“I agree,” he said, threading his fingers through hers before he shoved his free hand in his jacket pocket. “Too many people. It’d be easier to send a fruit basket and be done with it.”

She laughed, pulling him to the left after they took in their location.

“Where are we going?” He asked, falling into step beside her.

“Well,” she sighed, looking down at the display on her phone. “It's not even seven o'clock, we're both bored, and we're in the greatest city in the world.”

“That sounds like the beginning of an adventure, Betty Cooper.”

She turned to look at him, a smile on her lips. “Let me show you a hidden gem.”

“What’s it called?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“You wouldn’t know it,” she said, shaking her head.

“I'm from New York.”

“Yeah, but New York is not New York City,” Betty said, shaking her head as she fought the urge to roll her eyes. “There's a very big difference, Juggie.”

“Okay then.” He squeezed her hand. “Give me an authentic experience.”

“You like books?” she asked, glancing over at him.

He nodded enthusiastically. “Books are definitely something I’m a fan of.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Because I know this little hole in the wall bookstore that’s a few blocks down if you wanted to see it.”

“Lead the way.”

Betty’s smile grew into a grin. She practically dragged him the three blocks from the gallery to a small store, but he didn't seem to mind.

He seemed to lighten when he noticed the half-operational neon sign in the front window;  _ Cerberus Books _ flashing back at them.

“What is it?” Betty asked, brows furrowing as she looked up at him.

“Reminds me of a place from home.” He shrugged, looking in the front window. “Looks cozy.”

Betty smiled. “It is.” She pulled him toward the front door. “Quiet, too.”

“Wow,” Jughead breathed when they finally walked inside.

The smell of the books hit her first, then the warmth of the store. She felt herself relax as if she had just walked into her own apartment. The shop was small but packed with books, always warm like it was welcoming her home. Betty loved  _ Cerberus _ because no matter how many times she came back, she always ended up leaving with more books than she had originally planned to.

They both turned to wander off in different directions.

She chuckled when Jughead glanced back at her with an apologetic look in his eyes. “I have an idea.”

He quirked a brow, turning to face her. “What’s your idea?”

“Pick out a book for me,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’ll look for one for you and we can meet up in a few minutes.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He finally released her hand. 

Betty smiled, shoving down a feeling she couldn’t quite name as he walked away, her hand cold without his. She wandered off towards the fiction section, getting lost in the shelves as she scanned for the perfect book.

She hadn’t noticed how long she’d been looking around until she heard footsteps.

“Find anything yet?” Jughead asked, strolling down the aisle towards her, book in hand.

“Almost,” she said, scanning the spines of the books on the shelf in front of her, pausing when she saw the name of her favourite author. She stopped when she saw the title she was looking for. “Got it,” Betty said, sliding the book off of the shelf.

“And what is it?”

She held the book out to him. 

He reached out to take the book from her, smiling when he saw her choice. “ _ The Bluest Eye _ ,” he read aloud, brushing his thumb over the gold embossing on the front cover. “I’ve heard of Toni Morrison, but I don’t think I’ve ever read one of her books,” he admitted.

“Well, now you can,” she said. “Toni Morrison is one of my favourite authors.”

He met her gaze again. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Betty felt her cheeks heating up at the comment. She looked down at the book he was holding at his side. “What’d you pick out?”

“Oh.” It was his turn to blush as he looked down at the black and red cover of the book in his hand. “ _ And Then There Were None. _ ” He held the book out to her, a sheepish smile on his lips. “I know it’s not very original, but it’s one of my favourites.”

“I’ve never read it,” she admitted. Betty held her hands out, taking the book from him. “Meant to-” She met his gaze again, shaking her head. “But I just never got around to it.” 

“I’ll show you my personal library sometime,” he promised. “It has a lot of true crime, but it’s still pretty diverse.”

“I'd like that.” 

He smiled, leading her over to the counter by a hand on her elbow. He laid his credit card and both of their books down on the counter, waving off Betty's offer to pay for her own book. After paying, he took their books from the cashier, thanking them as he grabbed Betty’s hand, pulling her towards the door. 

“Okay, this is definitely going to sound like a line,” she said as they were stepped outside. “But if you wanted to see my books, we’re right around the corner from my apartment.”

He grinned at her, but he didn’t say anything.

“Only if you want to,” she emphasized, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Okay,” he said, somehow managing to disarm her nerves with one simple word. “But in exchange, you have to come to my place.”

Her brows furrowed. “Tonight?”

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. “We’ll leave it as an IOU,” he said, following her down the mostly empty street. “That sound alright?”

They stopped in front of a black metal door one block down.

She nodded. “I’m okay with that.” Betty slipped her key into the lock of the front door. “Just make sure you get my number before you leave.”

“I promise I won’t forget.”

She smiled, leading him up one flight of stairs before stopping at her door. She unlocked the door, flipping the lights on as they entered. She silently thanked herself for cleaning her apartment the night before.

“Is that a camera?” He asked, pointing towards her coffee table.

She nodded, leaning down to take off her shoes. She walked off towards the kitchen, dropping her phone and purse on the counter. “Tea or coffee?”

“I’ll take whatever you’re making.”

Betty nodded as she walked off to grab two mugs.

“You know,” Jughead said, picking up the pale blue Polaroid camera he’d spotted when they’d walked in. “I'm happy these are coming back into fashion.”

She laughed, heating up a pot of water for their tea. “I was hoping you weren't going to call me pretentious,” she smiled over at him before focusing on the pot again. “Some people see the camera and think I'm trying to be a hipster. Are hipsters still around?”

“Maybe,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Counter culture finds a way, Betts.”

“It does.”

“But I wouldn't worry about that.” He sauntered closer. “Photography is a way of expressing yourself. The camera doesn't make the artist.”

“I like that.” She filled both of the mugs with hot water, walking over to the cabinet she stored her tea in.

There was a flash to her left.

Betty blinked, looking over at Jughead when she realized he'd taken a photo of her. She watched as he pulled the camera from his eye, focusing on the photo printing out.

“People are too uptight,” he said, shaking his head. He slipped the photo into his book so it could develop in darkness. He met her gaze again, a shadow of a smile on his lips. “You should have fun with your life. Do what you  _ like _ .”

“That’s definitely the ideal way to live.” She smiled, dropping a tea bag into each of the mugs. “Do you want any sweetener?”

“No.” He shook his head as he walked towards the kitchen, camera in hand. He set the camera down and took the mug she offered him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Jughead smiled at her before his gaze wandered around the apartment. He stood up straighter when he noticed her bookshelves. He looked back at her. “May I?” He asked.

“Of course.” She nodded. She grabbed the camera with her free hand as she followed him into the living room.

He stopped in front of the bookshelf, scanning over the titles she had. He smiled before he set his mug down on a coaster. He reached up to pull a book free. “ _ Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History Of Punk, _ ” he read aloud before glancing back at her. “I would never have pegged you as a punk girl.”

“It was a gift from Toni.” Betty shrugged, taking a sip of her tea. “But, it is one of my favourites when I’m in the mood for it.”

“Yeah,” he hummed as he flipped through the pages. “You definitely have to be in the mood for it.”

“You’ve read it?”

He stopped a few pages short of the back cover, pulling out a photo of Betty, Cheryl, and Toni that had been forgotten there. He smiled down at it, tracing his finger along the edge of the photo before putting it back. He flipped through a few more pages. “I’m pretty sure this is my copy.”

Betty laughed. “No way.”

He held up a finger before flipping to the  _ cast of characters _ section. He pointed at the handwritten addition to David Bowie’s entry;  _ died 10 January 2016 (69yo, liver cancer; tragic) _ was scribbled in small, messy handwriting next to it.

She scanned the page, looking at each of the handwritten updates to the text. “So, I was gifted a stolen book?”

“Seems to be the case,” he said, setting the book back on the shelf. “I guess I’ll have to stop by the next time I’m in the mood to read it.”

She smiled. “I guess you will.”

He looked back at her with a mirroring smile. “You going to do something with that camera, Cooper?”

“Yeah,” She glanced down at the camera in her hand before looking up at him. “Hold this for me.” She thrust her mug out to him, barely waiting for him to take it before she raised the camera.

He opened his mouth to say something, hand raised as if he were going to make a point, but the flash interrupted him. “Hey,” he laughed, reaching out for the photo.

“You have your bookmark, Jones.” Betty pulled away, holding the Polaroid just out of his reach. “And now I have mine.” She hid the photograph in her book, smiling up at him in defiance.

She chose to ignore the butterflies in her stomach at his  _ you win this time _ smile, biting her lip to keep from saying something stupid about his adorable dimples.

It was only later, after the photo developed, that Betty finally came to the realization that she was so very screwed.


End file.
